Under control
"Do we trust him anymore? I mean, can we trust him anymore, really? He practically assaulted her!" Anderson was clucking his tongue between his words. John was too numb to hear most of what he said.
"Oh, he assaulted her? Come now. She technically assaulted him first. You heard the Taser discharge. With the kind of injuries he already has, even an accident with it_ That_ that could've killed him!" Greg shook his head.
"You're defending him? Sir, she never put her hands on him. He, on the other hand, manhandled her quite a bit…" Anderson was ruffled. He snapped his collar, indignant.
"He sabotaged her attack and gripped her by her hair. Didn't even pull it all that hard really, if we consider the circumstances. I'm sure that's not as bad as what she nearly did to him. Are you going to make a case out of this? Leave it alone. She's like to have learned her lesson and should be leaving him alone now. I'm not even going to report it for both their sakes." Greg looked to John for help. But John was looking at Sherlock.
They were walking down the pier to the factory where Sherlock traced the church robbers. Sherlock was walking serpentine. At first, it wasn't noticeable, but then, his knees were shaking.
"Sherlock?" John called out to him, concerned. Then, he realized what Anderson was saying.
"He ought to be locked up...Asylum or something…Not that it would do any good. I thought they used shock therapy to fix the Bedlams. It clearly didn't work on him. "Anderson was oblivious to himself. Until Greg looked at him, appalled completely, face turned the color of mint leaves.
"Sherlock? Christ!" John rushed to Sherlock whose legs were giving out.
Sherlock turned around, gaining his footing.
"Therapy...That's what he said...Therapy!...How did? How did he know that? How did you know that?!" Sherlock pointed his finger at Anderson whose jaw clicked shut.
"You have to have heard something, seen something, saw something! How did you know that? It makes sense now… You...Raving on about things_complete idiot you are. Did the Master plant you then? All this while? Speak! The one variable I missed!" Sherlock's hands were vibrating now. He twisted on his legs like a marionnette spinning in a storm.
"What...are you on about?" Anderson shook his head.
"I've told no one. No one how they...How it was done. Or anything about it! But you...You said 'therapy'...That's what...That's what they called it. Called it my "therapy". How did you know?! What do you know?!" Sherlock's pointing hand clutched into a fist. John felt his stomach like a fish attempting to swim hot coals.
"He doesn't know anything...He doesn't. He's just some slobbering idiot who was running off at his head, unconcerned with the consequence of words." John took Sherlock's hands as they shook. It grounded him enough to snap at Greg.
"Lestrade! Keep your people under control, or I will take my expertise to a different investigative unit permanently_and I do mean that." Sherlock spun on his heel back to business.
By the time that they broke into the old factory, he was working like a machine gun. Firing off more deductions than any of them could keep up with. He started shouting at John to take shorthand. John complied, but he couldn't write fast enough. Finally, with shaking hands, Sherlock started taking down the notes himself. It looked more like a cardiograph than a notebook in a matter of seconds.
After a moment, they stared at him incredulous now. He was speaking pure Latin as if he was excorcizing something vile from his system. It took them a moment to realize he was reciting legal code, but with all the words in Latin. He was describing the exact nature of the crimes committed in this the secret lair of the thieves. Thieves who were absent.
"Sherlock, hey...Hey, could you...We can't keep up." John swallowed trying to keep his voice from triggering him further. If he suggested going home, that might set him off more. He thrived off of work after all.
Sherlock tore at his hair.
"Neither can I!" He was frantic now. Took off running. Hit his knees by the Thames, panting.
They all looked at each other without a clue. John at last was the one to go to his side.
"Are you….?"John knew not to ask if he was okay.
"Are you feeling faint?" John eventually asked and gingerly wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock coughed. He coughed and then he wheezed. John discreetly pulled his inhaler form his coat pocket and made him breathe into it.
"Under control! I've got it...I've got it…"Sherlock wrapped his fingers in John's coat. John nodded.
"I know...You're doing pretty well too, given everything. I'm...I'm sorry I didn't prevent it from happening." John frowned. Sherlock lifted his eyes and attempted to smile at him.
Lestrade crept up behind them. Sherlock reached, scrambled for his inhaler again, wheezing and coughing, shaking doubled over. He took another puff of it and pushed it in John's hands so he'd not be tempted to reach for it more times than was healthy.
Then, on fawn-fragile legs, he lifted himself up. He faced Greg and gasped.
"This is the headquarters...They...They are dispersed throughout. If you watch the place, you will be able to arrest them at different times of the day. If you would like to arrest their contractors, it's an Irish tavern about 12 blocks from here called County Well. Some of the packaging on other effects were stained with an Irish beer that is only produced in London at that tavern." Sherlock nodded, at last translating all the jabber from before.
Greg's mouth opened and closed. Then, he burst into tears. Sherlock spluttered and looked to John in confusion. Greg wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him as close as physically possible. Sherlock shivered at physical contact but let him.
"I...I am sorry…"Greg was shaking his head.
"Oh, um...Don't be upset, Graham...I...I didn't mean that I would truly leave your unit. I was just a bit...Annoyed." Sherlock puffed. Greg leaned back and took his face in shaking hands.
"My name is Greg, for God's sakes…"He held Sherlock's face carefully, shaking his head. Sherlock looked clueless and that made it worse.
"And you are a completely clueless person...For all your smarts...My God, son! What in Hell has the world done to you?" Greg shook his head. Sherlock sputtered, face crumbling into an expression a bit of shock first at the fact that Greg had called him "son" and then at the fact that he was actually genuinely concerned with his health.
"I...you understand that I...I can't…"Sherlock held his hand up. Greg let Sherlock go and nodded.
"Neither of you are to say a word about it...We're going for drinks after. If you can't drink because of your meds, you're coming anyway. We'll get you soda or something." Greg walked off then to wrap up this case, delegate watches and arrests, and various other things.
Sherlock looked at John. John shrugged.
"Well, you didn't expect every person who found out about it to be completely cold-blooded about it, did you?" John frowned.
"Actually, yes." Sherlock smirked. John shook his head and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulders.
"Come on, back to it then." John looked over his shoulder at the river as it rolled yellow-faced behind them. Even England was sick at the stomach for this crime that kept on bleeding, this sacrificial gift that kept on giving.